Laments of a Hunting Man
by FigTreeofyourImagination
Summary: A notorious bounty hunter reflects upon his defeat at the hands of a simple thief, and the events that brought him there.


Disclaimers: I don't own these characters. So don't sue. Live and let live, yes?

Something I cooked up one evening, and thought would be interesting to post. Has absolutely ntohing to do with "The Founder" in any way. It's totally separate. Rated for mildly disturbing content, if you find the subject of troubled birth disturbing. That and weird insinuations about stuff and death.

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LAMENTS OF A HUNTING MAN

He watched them from the cliffs, invisible to their sight. Not even the Moogles knew he was there. Lani was long gone, fuming over something or other like human women do. Such fickle creatures, humans. They were all the same to him, devious, scheming, moral-less, and not worthy of trust. They were also predictable. They killed upon whim, not by need; they lied for their own gains, and were infernally lazy. If it could be done, they would "hire" others to do their work for them.

Amarant hated them for it. For all of it. He couldn't see redemption for this race that called themselves "man."

But this tailed boy... he was not like them. But of course, he obviously was not human, which could account for some of that. Since the brawl in the presence of the sacred Eidolon Wall the giant had been pondering. He had expected to die, to be executed by his opponent's hand upon his defeat. But he was spared. He still didn't know if whether or not he should have taken this gesture of "mercy" as an insult or reprieve. It bothered him. He scoffed at the blond far below him as he attempted to flirt with the brunette female he seemed to have chosen as his ideal mate. She was obviously not interested. But still this, "Zidane," tried.

He wanted to watch this... new creature. Never before had he seen such a being. His nobility in battle was exceptional, though he wasn't so sure that he could say the same for his personality. He was different, very different, from the humans he was so accustomed to dealing with. He hated them, and they hated him. It was a mutual relationship of spite, though grounded, in his mind, for very different reasons. Humans were wary and foul-minded towards those who were not like them, not ideal as they saw themselves to be; everything else, sentient or not, was seen as the equal of cattle--to be used as they saw fit. And him? He hated them for what they did to him because of that ideal. From his experiences with the race of Man Amarant had a great deal of bitterness and anger coursing through his mind and veins. Of course, he knew there were a few prize humans who weren't quite as judgemental or prone to manipulation as others, but he found these folk to be too few and far between to be counted as a part of the greater whole. Perhaps that was why he hunted them for a living.

His targets were retiring to sleep. No-one remained awake for watch. Did they trust the Moogles that much? The faerie folk were friendly, yes; but not much more prone to exertion than the common sentient. They too would cut corners if it could be done. They were too secluded to take to the habit of nightwatching for intruders. He didn't blame them. Even he felt safe here.

He peered out into the midnight sky, pools of green reflecting the speckled canvas high above. It almost made him feel at home. The blasted earth, the clear sky, the hardened inhabitants… all of it tugged at distant cords he thought he had long since severed.

_Do you see, Salaman'd?_

Amarant closed his eyes and sighed, reverting his attention back to his targets of study. He considered himself free of the blue Queen's service since he was fairly bested by the Princess'… consort, he guessed he could call him. It didn't really look to him as though the female was distraught towards her supposed kidnapping, as the Queen had told him. If she had been, the girl would be kicking, biting, screaming, fighting for her freedom tooth and nail. But he might be expecting too much from her. Human females in the broad term he knew were more than capable of all these things, but generally stuck to screaming. But a real female, hn, of his kind, had no qualms about utilising everything else. True women bit, kicked, broke bones and fought with no reservations, just like their brothers, fathers, and husbands. It was unfortunate, he thought, that human women were so meek. It was a source of what little pity he held for humankind.

Even from high upon the red cliffs, he could hear the figures below snoring in sleep.

Huffing he got up and left, knowing he wouldn't be learning anything new until morning. With the stepping precision of a mountain goat he headed for the shore, where he would be able to find himself a meal for the night. The giant kept to the deepest shadows, in case one of the Moogles did stay up for some reason or other. Despite his prowess at remaining silent in movement, Amarant was more than well aware that his forest green attire stuck out horribly from the orange and reds of the natural rock. He should have done more research into this place before leaving, and probably then would have had the knowledge to have known better. But there was nothing he could do about that know. Though with these weaves at least, he would be left alone by the natural creatures under the possible pretence that he was just a very large Cactaur. He headed for the far shore, the waterline under the red cliffs being too close to his bester for comfort. The last thing he wanted to happen was for them to awaken. Though he had a rough idea of what the tailed boy's abilities were, he had no idea for the other three. The two females and the short, heavily cloaked creature smelled heavily of the arcane, something he was still studying for defence. He had gotten his hands on an ancient technique that allowed one to cast a spell back at an attacker, but had yet to perfect it.

The shore came into view swiftly enough.

He slowed his pace to stand upon a raised rock in silent contemplation. The only thing he was worried about now was Lani's temper. The human had a flare that reminded him almost nostalgically of his kind, but she was less inclined to control her rage. He hoped she wouldn't somehow find him here and fight him in the waters. It would just be a waste of time and energy. Listening intently, he tested his surroundings to assure himself of the validity of the location's security. Satisfied, he removed his fighting claws and set them to the side, where they would not get wet from the salted water and rust. His clothing swiftly followed, pooling out of splashing-reach. He left his hoop earrings where they were and retreated to the ocean to fish. Now he really didn't want Lani to show up. The last thing he needed was for the female to see him in the buff. If she did, he would never hear the end of it. The woman talked too much for her own good.

The water was cold, making him hiss in temporary discomfort. He waited for his body to adjust before submerging himself in search of food. Even under water, his keen vision was still sharp; nightvision, his mother had claimed, he inherited from his father. Slim flashes of fish silver lead him further out from the shore.

Amarant never really knew his father. He had met him once when he had been very young, maybe five years of age, and only remembered finding the older male very intimidating. Then again, when you're that young, anything that's a good seven feet taller than you was intimidating. He couldn't ever really recall much of his father's appearance, which probably had something to do with him running away shrieking upon meeting the man, or so he had been told; but his mother was always happy to oblige telling him about his sire after he had gotten older.

A large trout wandered too close. He had it in his grasp in under a split second, breaching the water's surface with his prize even quicker. He retreated to the shore, the heavy fish wriggling desperately.

His father had been of a different breed than his mother. He was of nocturnal blood, and she was not. His mother dwelt with her clan in the barrens, while his father travelled with his own in the forests beyond. Their meeting and eventual, but only temporary intimacy was more or less accidental. Their affection was strained from their differences in blood, and so the ties they shared didn't last long. Amarant was the result of the mismatched pairing; with the cooler skin hues of his father's breed, and the blazing mane of his mother's. Since it was she that kept him, he learned everything from her and her brothers.

_Listen to your elder brothers, Salaman'd. They have much to teach you._

Reaching the shore he promptly whipped the fish against a rock, cracking its skull and instantly ending its life. Kneeling he washed the animal of its oil in the sea water. Just what would he do once morning came? he couldn't go back to the Main Continent, not yet. The bounty on the head of the Princess was still too fresh. He had squandered the chance, and his failure was prime for punishment under the blue Queen's weighted graces. He would wait until the fires died down before going back. He could survive here perfectly well for as long as he needed.

He could just stay…

No, he couldn't do that. He would have to eventually return to the mainland, as much as he hated humans, he hated being utterly alone just as much. He may put forward a mask of solitude, but that was to keep the ignorant and the dangerous away from him. He didn't need to have friends, just general company. Being just outside of a crowd was enough. Just because he didn't like being alone didn't mean that he necessarily wanted to interact. He preferred to watch, and listen. He could just stay by the village of the green-skinned folk, but they were too precariously placed between the mountains for his tastes.

With the fish clean, he sat himself down by his clothing and began to eat. He didn't need to cook his food. Humans would scoff and turn up their noses at such a way of living. They considered it barbaric, primitive. It made him angry. If they weren't so concerned with their so-called image of "higher-civilisation," they wouldn't be so ignorant to what was really not as horrible as they thought. He understood that certain meats and such needed to be cooked in order to not give the feaster some possible disease, but most didn't need such treatment. It took away from the enjoyment of the meal, and the connection one shares with the animal that gave itself to feed the hunter that took its life. Cooking meat dimmed the voice of the animal's spirit after death, and not being able to hear it was a herald of bad luck, his mother had told him. Not hearing or feeling the presence of the animal as one ate their flesh was a sign that something bad was soon to happen in the future of that hunter. It could be small, like an illness, or terrible, like death; and it didn't have to target the hunter them-self.

Amarant finished the fish quickly, but was nonetheless filled. He tossed the remaining bones back into the ocean with a small line of quiet words, and turned is attention to drying off and redressing.

A chill wind was drifting from the open water now. Not favouring the cold, he wound his way back to the cliffs for shelter. He preferred the heat. The giant found a small crevasse in the cliffside easily enough, just large enough for him to rest in comfortably.

He found himself smirking. "Giant" was a human term. What his people called themselves was not a name known by such folk, nor did he think they would even be able to pronounce it. It was an ancient name giving to them by the first of the earthen spirits that gave them life from the very rocks themselves. They were a secluded folk, and were more than happy to keep to themselves if others did likewise. They never had much in the way of technology, but that had more to do with their beliefs and want for such advancement. They didn't want it, and they didn't think that such would be healthy for the clans. When he had first seen the wonders of Gaia's mainlands, he couldn't help but question why the elders thought this way. But after several long, gruelling years he finally realised why. Though the technology of the humans and their allies was great, it lead to strife and jealousy.

But his kind didn't even possess the mere _notions_ of what these monoliths of steel and steam could do, for his kind--in their entirety, dwelled upon an island far into the seas. As he remembered, the landmass was fairly large, but difficult to locate. Only from the air, by Chocobo back, could the island be seen, much less reached.

He shifted against the stone walls. He himself, didn't know the way back. He had been literally stolen from his home and forced to dwell here amongst such a cruel race who deemed themselves a helping hand to all those supposedly weaker than they.

Tired of his own building rage, he bade himself an early goodnight. Tomorrow, he would continue his observations of the tailed boy and his companions.

- - -

The thin sliver of daylight was more then enough to wake Amarant from his slumber. He never had trouble sleeping, but he had long before now trained himself to wake at the slightest provocation. The constant apprehension of the far past always begged he take such measures, "safe" or not. He had learned with reluctance that there was no place that was truly "safe" from threat.

He left his resting place with a powerful leap. He partially longed for the blissful ignorance that allowed him to believe that such was true, but it was far beyond his reach now. He had seen and now knew too much of the real world to replace such a mask of innocence.

The Moogles in the broken village had awoken, it seemed; he could hear them fluttering about and chattering to each other. He once again kept to the shadows, keeping his presence minimal. The sun was still very low, so he doubted that his subjects of interest were even up and moving yet. The faint rumble of snoring confirmed his suspicion. He found his previous perch and waited out of sight of the faeries. He wanted to see how the boy who bested him would react to his presence later, if he decided to reveal himself at all. He knew that the tailed sentient wouldn't be staying here for much longer, if the bounty mission he had been given was to more or less kill the Princess and her cohort were any indication of their dangerous position in the world now. They were fugitives, outsiders, much like him. Locked from the land they love and denied a right to live freely, just like him.

On this point alone he reserved some small amount of pity for them, but not much. As great as their plight may be, it was nothing compared to what his own had been at the tender age of twelve. When those strange men came upon their shores…

He nearly punched the rock below him in anger.

He always cursed the day when he had been walking along the beaches with his mother, who had been heavy with her second child. He also cursed himself, because it was his fault they were caught.

It had been a clear day, in the middle of the storm season in the barrens. He had wanted to go outside so badly. He should have stayed home... But his mother gave in to his pleadings, wanting some fresh air herself, he guessed. They wandered to the beaches, where he played in the fine sands like any youth would. His mother would shout at him to stop getting so much sand in his hair, but he wouldn't listen, and just keep going, rolling about where he would in the glory that was being dirty to young males.

_Don't go far, Salaman'd!_

The memory was becoming clearer, insisting that he not ignore what he had dredged up. He remembered finding a crab on the beach. He had been so enthralled, that he followed it to the far edge of the shore. There he caught the crab, and looking out into the sea, saw something most strange. Boats. Large boats.

_Manam! There's something in the water!_

It was probably too late the moment he had reached the shore. Even as his mother fought back to her feet to see what he was yelling about there had been intruders docking upon the beach, out of sight. She had come up to see, and the expression that had crossed her face had been difficult to read. He knew now that it had been a look of great concern and fear. But being only a youngling, he could see nothing wrong with the odd things of wood floating so very far away in the blue.

_Come, Salaman'd, we should leave_.

No sooner had she spoken those words, they were assaulted by the alien folk who dared to trespass onto their home. They were pathetic in comparison to the size and fury of his mother. She fought them as well as she could with his unborn sibling still in her belly. She ended the lives of many of her attackers, but they overwhelmed her in turn. Chains and ropes confined her to the ground as the rest came for him, advancing slowly, as he had been paralysed with fear and shock.

_Run, Salaman'd! Run!_

Amarant remembered the running all too clear. He had bolted, his sight already laden with tears. How could his mother fall? She had always seemed so invincible to him. Only a demon could best his mother. He knew better now. Though he was even now adamant that the folk, who were humans, that had ambushed them were demons in every sense of the word. Only beings without remorse or souls would do what they did to him and his mother. He had run for as long as he could, better equipped for dashing across the rocks and sands far better than they. But it didn't last. One of his pursuers used a spare chain to drive him to the ground, whipping at his legs to make him stumble. He had been dragged back, kicking and biting, to the shore to be bound beside his parent.

He peered out into the near waters balefully as the sun continued to rise. The two of them had been taken back to the larger boats afterwards, and shut away beneath the docks. He learned later that those who had caught him, were what humans commonly termed "slave drivers;" those who fetched servants for the rich. In this case, exotic servants.

The giant momentarily lost control of his rage and whipped a rock into the distance. They had then been kept at sea for months, kept alive with meagre rations. His mother continued to bear, his future brother or sister growing without pause. When they had reached land, they were both weak and thin from malnutrition and apprehension. His mother didn't have the strength to lift herself from the ground her burden was so great and her limbs so weak. It took many of their captors to dredge her up from the lower deck to the waiting carts to be sold. She was placed in a single, cramped cage with him, and taken away from the shoreline.

How different the Mist Continent looked then. How frightening. The fog of aggression had been everywhere, and still was, with strange and brutal creatures appearing to attempt to feast upon their captors' flesh. It took two days after their landing on the shore to reach the drivers' camp, where they held their business. And it was there, that his mother had given birth to his sister.

Amarant clenched his fists tightly, nearly drawing his own blood in violent remorse. It had been a terrible experience, to be with her through the long night it happened. She had bled freely, and none would come to help. The sounds she had voiced had made his flesh crawl and his ears ring. Even today he had trouble trying to compare the experience. There was never anything more frightening to him, scarring, than his sister's bloody birth. It still haunted him, for it translated into his mother's final moments upon this earth. There had been blood everywhere he swore; all over his mother, the floor, and all over him from his attempts to help her deliver. Only after what had seemed to be a millennia of pitching, writhing, screaming and howling was his sister born. His mother, utterly spent, had but enough breath to tell him her name before passing.

_Salaman'd... Protect She'nawei... She will need you..._

Such were her last words. When she fell so silent afterwards he didn't know what to think. Was she tired? Of course. She must be sleeping. He had picked up his bawling sister, and using what little he knew of baby care wrapped her in a spare cloth and rocked her to sleep.

When his mother didn't wake for two days, he fell into denial. He wouldn't believe that she was dead. His mother was invincible.

Sounds of waking floated up from the broken village. So, they were finally rousing from the rays of the sun. Feh. What a lazy bunch. The blond thief, Zidane, came out first, stretching and yawning without a care in the world. He tensed as the boy wandered over to the base of his high plateau, wondering if he may have perhaps spotted him. Had he been so careless? He was proven wrong as the blond stopped before the tall cliff and promptly relieved himself of nature's call. The stink made him growl and cover his nose. Grinning and giggling stupidly in a half-awake manner the boy thankfully left. He didn't seem very bright. To not be able to sense another, possibly hostile, from even that close? This thief was as sensitive as a door. He watched him wander away back to the shattered stone hut the girl with the horn kept as lodgings.

Amarant found himself wondering, how the girl, so young, could cope with her loneliness. She was, as far as he could tell, the only member of her kind. He personally had never seen any other folk with her features. Had she been abandoned for her difference? Or maybe left accidentally through tragedy? He guessed it was the latter, as the beaten rock spoke as much. But she must have been scared at first upon seeing that she was alone once it came to pass, like he had been.

He remembered that the men who had caged them came back the third day, to give them food. They found his mother dead, and his new sister in his small arms. He had kept away from them, starved and crazed with the silence of the creature that had built his world for him. How he had shrieked and spit when they had tried to come too close to him and his sibling. He even attacked them when they tried to drag his mother's corpse away. But they were persistent. Incapacitating him they took the body away, but left his sister, after much protest from him by way of screams and bites, with him. Now She'nawei was all he had.

What had it been like for the girl? He figured he could never really guess, though it seemed like she had done well for herself with the help of the Moogles.

And what of the others of the thief's company? How were they coping with their seclusion? The short one with the tall hat came waddling out with the brunette Princess following after.

The giant rubbed his chin. He had been wondering of late about the character of this Princess. The blue Queen had demanded more or less that she be killed for apparently stealing a royal family heirloom, a crystal pendant. Even from his far distance, he could see her clearly. She looked innocent enough, and internally beaten. Something was weighing down on this female, probably had something to do with her mother, if mother to her the Queen was. They looked nothing alike, but he had seen stranger pairings of parent and child. What could drive a mother to have her daughter killed for so trivial a thing as jewellery? He didn't bother to dwell on this question, he was sure it was just something humans did.

But the girl looked frail. Too frail, to be so far from home with but the thief to look after her. And she was destined to gain her mother's throne? He didn't consider this to be at all uplifting for the Mist Continent. She didn't look to be ruling material. She just didn't seem to have the internal integrity she would surely need to uphold her station and her peoples' faith.

And the short one? What did the Queen call it... a black mage? He had no idea what such a being was, but from what he had seen of late on the Mist Continent, they were "soulless golems" as it were. From afar he had seen the tiny figure the day before wield fire with what looked to him to be no effort at all. How did one simply request the elements to materialise to aid you? It was beyond his understanding.

Many things had been beyond his understanding when he had been brought from the island of his kind. He closed his eyes and thought back. For three years he had been kept there, raising his sister as best he could without the guidance of his mother. She'nawei had always kept close to him, and he to her. He was kept to hard labour in the camp, moving cages and gathering wood and such. She'nawei would always follow. As he had taught her, she didn't trust these folk. But finally, a customer came to the camp, looking for a heavy-weight servant to move his wares as he pleased without the inconvenient costs of hiring hands. By that time unfortunately, Amarant had reached the height of six feet, and still growing. The nobleman was enthralled with his outward "primitiveness," and immediately separated him from his sibling, who the man did not care in the least for.

_Salaman'd! Salaman'd! Come back, o-ihan!_

They had to bind him in ten lengths of chain to still him, but they couldn't stop him from roaring out in his rage.

He thought atop the plateau. Why hadn't he ever attempted escape? He had been much stronger, larger, than his captors even then. But the Mist Continent had still seemed an alien place. With vicious monsters waiting in the fog just beyond the camp torches, there had been just too much to risk in leaving. He hadn't been knowledgeable of this new place's lore, nor was he sure he would have been able to look after both himself and his youngling sister. He remembered he could hear her cries as he was carted away with who would soon instate himself as his "Master." He never saw his sister again.

His green eyes were threatening to well up with bottled tears. He wouldn't let them fall. It was a constant threat of weakness he was always fighting against; that and the thoughts of self-brought death that would surface with every anniversary of when it all started. Suicide amongst his people was a disgrace, he knew; and it was that, and the knowledge that he would be doing his mother a dishonour in the afterlife, that kept him from slashing his wrists with his own fighting blades.

By the time he had been taken from the camp he had only learned so much of the common speak on the Mist Continent. At most he could pick up certain phrases and nod "yes" or "no" in response to simple questions. This was fine for the most part, but after being bought by this nobleman who intended to break him to nothing but a fawning slave, he didn't want to be left ignorant of what such a being would truly be saying of and to him. His spite for these _humans_ was already rampant.

His "owner" didn't use him for much other than heavy lifting and whatnot. The man was obsessed with rearranging his furniture, and he would have the giant do just that at least once a week, when he grew tired of his current layout. Just why he indulged in such a habit he could never guess, but it kept him busy and blissfully distracted. This human that appointed himself as his master, who called himself Morri Vernis, had tried to gain his name. Of course, he wouldn't give it to him. For what reason would he give this man the only thing his mother gave him, that he still had, to defile with theatrics? Vernis wouldn't stand for such disobedience on his servant's part, and had attempted to punish him in response. He still had a few scars from that encounter, but were now thankfully quite faint and overwritten by those he had later received in worthy battles. Eventually, the nobleman gave up, figuring that he must have just been too stupid to understand the request, too primitive to already have a name; so he gave him a name himself.

The word "Amarant" didn't reach him as a sensical word at first, and still didn't. It could have been a misunderstanding on his part. The only word he knew of that was even remotely similar and carried any meaning was "amaranth," but that was simply the name of a harsh-living plant who's blooms apparently never faded. He was never sure after he learned this whether or not it was some sort of inside joke Vernis was making to him to further increase his shame.

All four of his targets were outside now, with the loud, horned girl serving her guests breakfast. The child was nearly as loud as Lani, and that was no small feat to accomplish, he could assure anyone. He watched them all keenly from his high perch above the blasted earth, still mulling over what choices he had ahead of him. He could just leave this bunch to their devices and go his own way, or assassinate the lot of them right now. His throwing rings would be more than enough to end their pathetic lives in less than a blink of an eye. He would be able to go back to the Mist Continent and do what he pleased, possibly remove the bounty on his own head by the Queen's good graces, provided that his partner didn't try to steal his find for her own benefit. It was her own fault that she stormed off like the fool woman she was before a new opportunity presented itself. He fingered his throwing wheels that rested on his belt, testing the razor sharp edge that made the weapons fly with absolute silence. The second choice was looking quite favourable at the moment. He expected nothing less of himself, really. What did that creature, Zidane, think he was doing sparing his life? He was a hardened being; with the notion of compassion coming only with some difficulty on his part. He didn't care for his targets, he never had a reason to. He was just serving up what had been given to him for over twenty long years.

He had swiftly learned that his owner had a fetish for what he deemed to be exotic merchandise. Vernis had shelves upon shelves stacked with outlandish lore and geography, with his walls covered with imported tapestries that could only have been stolen to be attained. The man's attraction for the un-norm extended also to his slave, which meant that his redheaded servant was prime for showcasing, just like everything else he allegedly owned. Morri wasted no time in including his latest addition to his "exotic wares" to expose to his adoring public. The countless other nobles, who attended out of jealousy of the fool's collection he was sure, had gawped and stared so openly at him that it had nearly made him snap. Being in the throes of adolescence and surrounded by a horde of Godless "people" was not a combination he remembered fondly. Chained to the floors and left in the open to be freely poked at by powdered big-wigs, he had tried everything to make these freaks of nature vanish. What manner of being had such unnaturally pale skin and wore such gross weaves? It surely wasn't healthy. He snapped and hissed, spat and roared at them, but to no avail. If anything, it made them crowd closer, making strange noises and fluttering their fans in some crazed display of enjoyment. Having all these _humans_ stare and point at him so shamelessly made him all the more furious at his capture and honourless treatment. The terms these people used to describe him, "savage," "ape," and "beast" didn't immediately mean anything to him for various reasons, but earned his disgust quickly enough later. He had thought that surely the man that had claimed to be his caretaker wouldn't allow for such a blatant infringement of his constitution. No being would allow such a thing to happen to another. It was immoral and sick. But much to his dismay, Vernis had just stood there. What confused and angered him even more, was that he _invited_ these people to get closer, even going as far as to forcibly stilling his violent retorts so that his giggling fans could _touch_ his pet and wish for their own lumbering hulk.

He unconsciously pulled back his mane of dreads with a silent snarl. That was another reason he kept general physical contact aside from violence to a minimum nowadays. The mere recollection of those ignorant noble-folk pulling at his hair and testing the thickness of his "beastly hide" always made his flesh crawl unnaturally. It was because of memories such as those he wished he had amnesia. But the degradation hadn't stopped there, heavens forbid. No, Morri had to keep his most favoured possessions as close to him as possible. And that unfortunately included him. He would drag Amarant about his grounds with him if he wasn't engaged in planning out his next round of home-improvement, keeping him on a short, and very tight leash. Vernis even kept him in his own chambers after hours, but in a cage and securely chained to the walls. The giant swore the man would stare at him for hours on end, with the most unreadable expression he had ever seen. It gave him the absolute meaning of the term "creepy," which was a word his kind didn't possess in their vocabulary. He would go to sleep feeling more than just a little exposed under that gaze, but no amount of blankets would curb the horrible sensation the human's stare would infect him with.

He had been thankful then, and was thankful now that the man hadn't tried to give that "creepiness" a solid definition.

Amarant had kept a close tally of how long he had been in Morri Vernis' "care." The man assumed he was doing him a favour by using him as a slave, he eventually found; believing him to be so uneducated as to be utterly incapable of looking after himself. Thus, his abuse of him was just payment of giving the giant a roof over his head and two meals a day. Soon enough, five years passed. Amarant's comprehension of Gaia's common speak was almost as wide as if he had been raised on it, but never spoke it. He preferred to keeping his silence when in the presence of his owner. The master didn't need to know that his supposedly stupid pet could understand ever word he spoke, every insult, every snide remark. He had managed to learn through careful observation of the witless nobles that came too often to Vernis' house, studying with an infinite patience. He didn't dare to use the books the man owned, at least not while he was looking. Learning the print was considerably harder than gaining knowledge through listening. Amarant's people didn't use books, nor did they write. Not one of them. Glyphs and such had been and was what they used, for centuries before now, and far into the future, he didn't doubt. Being now at twenty years of age, he was over seven feet tall, the height of his father, and had more than enough weight to throw around. Everyone else around him was nothing but a paperweight, including his slave master. Vernis wasn't entirely ignorant, and thus took Amarant's growth and strength quite seriously. After all, one never knew when a lowly savage would snap, hn?

And he did. Just exactly when he could never recall clearly. But he had been given the incentive due to some unkind words the man shared with his guests, who wanted to see his old-world servant, concerning his mother. The things he said! Amarant couldn't repeat them if his life depended on it. What disrespect! The fool had never even met her! Could never know her graces and righteous fury! First these _animals_ destroy her, then dare to insult her existence with false assumptions! It made his heart burn for vengeance.

He smirked to himself in the light of the rising sun. Vernis had been incredibly drunk later that same evening, after all his guests had left in their ridiculous clothing. In his drunken stupor he had attempted to take him back to his little cage. He wasn't in the least bit afraid of his "faithful" servant; if he had never struck out at him before, why would he do so now?

Amarant had waited until they had passed most of the interior security, well away from earshot. It was there, in the middle of the hallway leading to his cramped stockade that he took his rage out on this man of ignorance and indulgence. He wrapped the chains that confined his hands about the nobleman's throat, slowly throttling him. The look in his eyes had given him utmost satisfaction. Morri had gagged and spat in drunken confusion, face slowly turning red, then blue. Then Amarant, his supposedly linguistically challenged slave, spoke to him.

He laughed at nothing on the cliffs. The human had looked as though his eyes were going to pop out of his head, whether it would have been from the strain of the chains or the fact that his slave could speak near-perfect common he didn't nor would ever know.

He had hidden his body in a cabinet afterwards, to prevent an early discovery and capture. Humans weren't entirely stupid, he would admit; he would have to be careful until he either got far enough away or the following furry of Vernis' death faded away into obscurity. He knew that what they termed "the law" wouldn't have any problems with deeming him, the "savage slave", as the murderer. It was true, but that didn't make him turn himself in. The man got what he deserved as far as he was concerned. If it was wrong by the Gods' standards, then he would willingly pay for his transgression in the afterlife. Morri probably wouldn't be found for at least a half a day or more, more than what was proper to leave a cadaver above ground before burial. Without a burial at a proper time, Vernis' immortal soul would be doomed to wander in the realm of undeath until he was forgiven, which was not something Amarant was keen on doing any time soon. So then, he was free. He had travelled on foot to the further reaches of the Mist Continent, searching primarily for the slave driving camp that had depraved him of his adolescence. He wanted to find and free his sister.

Amarant stood up and stretched. He never found the bastards.

It was a blow of immeasurable defeat for him. He really had no idea of where to look once he had gotten away from Morri Vernis, but he had tried nonetheless. He kept the name his former owner had given him to preserve his anonymity amongst the human folk. He doubted that those about him would recognise the name "Amarant," much less "Amarant Coral." He had chosen the surname for the sheer oddity that was the word. It was a term that put a name to the rocky growths that spread along the bottom of the seas. His island home had been surrounded by these beautiful things of nature. In a nostalgic daze he had settled on the word.

Such was still his name. He never forgot his true name, and had long since never shared it with anyone. There was no creature here that he would ever trust enough to share such a thing. To him, in this land of prejudice and foolery, to give his native name would be the highest form of trust and respect he could give another. And so far he wasn't very inclined or impressed with the folk he had seen, if Lani and the blue Queen were anything to go by.

The three, Zidane, the Princess, and the golem, were headed for the exit of the battered village. So, they were leaving. To where? Here was as good a place as any to stay, considering their hunted position. The lot of them had a better chance here than anywhere else. He again fingered the throwing rings hanging at his side. It would be quick and silent. The brunette's neck was thin; a strong throw would sever her head from her body, and allow the disk to collide with her anomalous suitor. And unless the mage could summon fires capable of melting metal, it too was as good as gone. He lifted a silvery wheel from his belt, the idea growing on him with each passing second.

The blue haired female came to join them. To follow? Perhaps.

Perhaps he should do away with her as well. She was a much smaller target, but he needed to brush up on his fine targeting.

He stared at the tailed male in question. New thoughts twirled about his brain. What if… he too, followed? What, in turn, would he learn? This boy seemed to be different, and seemed to inherently follow the hunter's code of honour, which his own people held in the highest regard no matter the circumstances. There was the possibility that he was just overly trusting, or merely stupid. And he wondered... He had met this thief before, in the dark walls of Treno, where he had been employed as a security guard for the auction house. The male had tricked him, stalled for time and telling lies, before running away like a coward. Though his scheme was commendable for its effectiveness, it didn't impress Amarant all that much. It was a juvenile way to win a fight. Of course, he himself had gotten away afterwards with little difficulty. He merely left, as none of the other guards were man enough to challenge him. It was pathetic. He then became a wanted man and thus a bounty hunter, tracking down what humans considered scum for money. It didn't matter to him what his targets were, be they criminals, the wrongly accused, or royalty. They were all scum, as far as he was concerned.

But still... there was something missing in his accusation, he felt, now that he had run into this _boy_. The Moogles were speaking their goodbyes to the horned girl.

Hn. Since it seemed like assassination had fallen out of favour, he took door three. With a grunt he got to his feet, heading for the four folk in a slow, deliberate fashion. He would see just how different these people were from what many he had met and fought.

Just see if they were any different. Any better.

- - - Fin.

* * *

A/N: Might continue this with a bit of focus on Amarant's sister... maybe. It's kinda growing on me.

I don't know if giving the Flaming Badass a history involving servantry is overused or not... it just seems to fit with all that bitter baggage he seems to carry around.


End file.
